Willing To Be Unloved
by Devilita
Summary: Lucius loves his son, but not the way a father should love a son... Angst, dark. Warnings: contains slash, pain, torture, rape, incest... DMLM, DMHP: ONE-SHOT R


_I intended to delete this story altogether as it was my first fic in English, I was an über-emotional teenager and this kind of angst just doesn't float my boat anymore._

_However, I decided not to get rid of this story out of respect for **Michael Serpent**, who supported my idea of starting to write in English as well as in Finnish. R.I.P. Michie Pooh._

By: **Devilita  
**Beta-readers: **Silvestra** ( the translator) AND **Michael Serpent** (the grammar genius)  
Pairing: Draco/Lucius,Draco/Harry  
Genre: Angst-songfic, incest  
Rating: R  
Summary: Lucius loves his son – everything about him.  
Warnings: incest, non-con, violence  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, all characters etc. belong to J.K. Rowling  
A/N: Yay! This is my first, translated fic ever (thank you, Silvestra). ONE-SHOT

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_Willing To Be Unloved_

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It starts again. Sun before the storm. And the room, where I lie on my side, is almost completely dark.

The only torch in the room is burning in the other end of the room, at the dark door. But the quivering light of it isn't enough to illuminate the corners of the room. My light skin glows pale as the small rays of light play on it, casting deep shadows on my face. Oh God, this cold stone floor feels disgusting against my skin! Almost as disgusting as his... touch. But I will not cry because of this, I mustn't. He wouldn't like it.

My strength decreases bymy every exhale, by my every movement. I'm way too naïve; I have no idea how many times this has happened; how many times my attention has loosened for moment from my glass. And how many times has he put those medicines in my goblet without me noticing it. With a satisfied smile on his face he sits at the other end of the table and watches how I black out – once again. I should know better, after all these years.

My legs feel heavy. I can't move them, no matter how hard I try. I must be still high on the medicine. The coarse ropes rug my wrists that are tied behind my back. I could swear that there is some sort of stuff in the ropes that just adds stinging pain to my wounds. Because he loves to see me suffer; sometimes he watched for hours how my face and chest bleed how the blood dries to my skin and how I struggle in pain – without saying a word. I won't give him that satisfaction. He loves to see other people suffer, especially when it's me. It brings him pleasure, it might arouse him. Could you be any sicker?

And he smiles. That is the only time I really please him. He might tell his colleagues and his "friends" how proud he is of me, how talented I am at everything, how obedient and unemotional teen I am. He is proud of the characteristics that I have inherited from him. But He is not proud of _me_, this way he can just be proud of himself through me.

"Stop smoking that cigar already! I want to get out of here someday!"

I wouldn't have liked to say those words, but that's all I could do. The sooner this would be over, the better.

My heart beats in the same beat as the seconds change in the clock. I know what is coming next, but this is inevitable. It has always been. The same, painful sweat emerges on my forehead, dribbling tomy eyebrows. A hasty swallow feels likethere wassandpaper in my dry throat, my tongue sticks into my palate.

The dark and hard door in the other end of the room opens voicelessly but I can sense new air come flooding into the room. So now he is coming, he is at the door. I can't hear his footsteps, I'm too scared.

A hot breath strides along my neck. It burns my skin in a poisonously loving, sick way as always. The stuttering yell that echoes from somewhere in my chest doesn't affect his doing in anyway. "Do what you want and let me go!"

His voice breaks the restful air. "My dear Draco. Don't sound so scared, you know what I think about fear. It's a good thing only when a Malfoy doesn't show it. It's a good thing only when it's our advantage. And now it isn't, right?"

I can't answer. I bite my lip when I feel his cold fingers in my hair. He grabs my blonde, clean hair quickly and swiftly pulls my head back. "Right, Draco?"

It hurts... I try to nod, but I can't. I only say "Yes, Father."

He loosens his grip of my hair. His hand wanders on the smooth skin of my back. I can feel every point where his hands, his fingers have investigated me. I could vomit.

"Your skin is beautiful, my son. White as the first snow."

_//I love your skin oh so white...//_

I can't stay silent when his fingers touch me in a way too kind way. "Even the first snow is dirty and contaminated."

Nails bite into my skin and draw long slashes acrossmy back. I yelp in pain and fall on the floor, I hit my cheek.

"You are not dirty! You are clean and innocent! You are _my_ son, and no outsider has contaminated you!"

I'm not answering. Outsiders have "contaminated" me, in the way he expressed it. Does he truly think I'm still a virgin? Ha, I'm saying! He would be even angrier if he knew _who_ I lost my virginity to. He'd peel me alive. Harry, I'll come to you soon, into your care-taking arms…

My hands are released from the binds. Mentally I'm still bound. He grabs me from under my armpits and the backs of my knees. He lifts me up and carries me somewhere. If I was in strength, I'd struggle away from his grip, but my muscles don't obey me, cursed ones...

"Your skin is cold. Ice cold. Are you cold, Draco?" His voice is soft, he spoke to me like that when I was a small kid.

"Yes, father." I'm freezing! I can't feel my toes anymore.

"You are so beautiful, when you are cold. Your skin is so..." he bends his face against the skin of my shoulder and draws a deep breathe, breathing my scent. "...dead."

_//I love your touch cold as ice…//_

Does he consider me dead?

He puts me down on a sofa. I thank my luck that in this room – where I haven't ever been before, I think – there is no leather sofa. They are always so cold. Where could I get warmth?

I lie on my back on the sofa covered with a blanket. The fibres of the cloth burn the reddish wounds on my skin. I feel how my blood attaches my wounds to the cloth.

He smiles at me as he sits next to me. I know his smile; it may seem honest and pure on his lips, but those eyes... Those eyes reveal it all, they reveal his deepest self. Behind those grey eyes that are just like mine, haunts a heartless, cold man ready to grab anything he feels attracted to. He is ready to take everything without caring about others. Without caring about me. Blonde, long hair tickles my skin. Or they don't actually tickle, they cut me. Everything in him is cold assteel, his words are poison and his glance is indescribably deserted. And there he is, smiling at me. Even when he's not saying anything, he's lying to me.

"Cry for me, Draco." Slow, warm words force into my brain through my ears. Did I hear correctly?

"Excuse me?" I'm confused. He hates my tears, doesn't he?

"You heard me. Cry for me, cry for your father." He'll soon lose his patience. It can't be bad to try his temper a bit?

My voice is shaking. Is it for disbelief or fear? "But Father, you hate my tears. Why would you like me to cry now?" So I said it out loud.

"Do you like crying, Draco?" His tone is treacherously kind and soft. What does this man want?

I answer, confused: "No, I don't."

His smile widens. His eyes glimmer. His mad glance reminds me of the metallic shine of a dagger. "That's why."

_//And I love every single tear you cry...//_

I should have known. Of course that would be his motive. He wants me to be unhappy. Maybe it's just because of this situation, maybe it's about the daily growing will to resist my father, but I can't keep quiet, not today. "Do you want me to be unhappy, Father?"

_SMACK!_

I howl as the powerful punch hits my left cheek. Blood bursts out from my mouth and nose. The hotness of it drips on my chin and neck, and from there it falls on the sofa. I taste the iron of the blood in my mouth. My chest hurts and my cheek is hot. I can't breathe!

"Never speak such things! You know that I only want your best! You are my son!"

No, I am not. A father wouldn't treat his son like this. I can breathe again. How lovely the oxygen feels in my lungs! I don't have to look at my father to tell that he's furious. I hear it in his voice. I know that the kind shield of his eyes has broken and that now those eyes tell the whole truth about him. I don't know why but I feel like smiling. This situation is just so... ridiculous. I'm becoming as crazy as my father is. That's what is so amusing. Nothing else is, on the other hand.

"You know I love you, don't you?" That demanding tone again.

_//I just love the way you're losing your life...//_

I lift my face from the pillow where I have buried it after the punch. I try not to smile.

"Yes, Father."

His voice calms and his breathe stabilises. I feel and hear, how a soft but so hard shield full of lies covers him.

His fingers climb on my neck and from there they wander across my back to my waist. He loves my waist. Sure, I love it too, but for some reason he seems to love it even more than I do.

"Now... Cry, Draco." I had already hoped he would have forgotten. But no, that guy never forgets anything!

I try to cry, but I can't. I can cry, but not when I'm forced to. I try and try, but I can't make it. Even the memories of all the times when he has beaten the air out of my lungs and slashed my skin bloody don't make the tears come to my eyes.

"I can't, Father."

He is unsatisfied. "I know that crying is not a good thing, but this time you have to show your obedience to your father like this. You're not trying hard enough!"

I bite my lip, wishing it would produce tears. Hopeless.

"Father, I can't cry, no matter how hard- AAARGH!"

Nails dig into my flesh. My body rises from the surface of the sofa, like I washaving a cramp. His fingers, his nails squeeze my ribs with such a power that even breathing is difficult. Like I was wearing a corset and the corset was made of unbending metal. I can't, and I don't want to, breathe. Not anymore.

His voice smiles. "You're crying, my son. You're crying for me. I'm so pleased."

What? I am crying? I touch my cheek and feel something wet in my fingers. I am actually crying. And it feels pretty good. How can you not feel if you cry?

"You'll get your trophy, you are a good boy."

A trophy? Oh no...

Fingers wander to the buttons of my trousers. Now I feel how I cry. I try to sob voicelessly, even though my body is shaking. I now I'm shaking in fear.

"Father... Don't..."

He never listens to me.

¤¤

//Oh, my Baby how beautiful you are  
Oh, my Darling, completely torn apart  
You're gone with the sin my baby  
And beautiful you are  
So gone with the sin my darling...//

¤¤

My body is numb. I see that I'm lying on the floor, again. My beaten, ashamed body has gone goosebumps and he is gone. He's left me lie here alone, pathetic and spoilt. Am I naked? I check. Yes, I am. Oh my God, I hurt so much! In every single place!

I wonder what he did to me? No, I don't want to know. I only remember the pain and the humiliation. It wasn't love, it was hate. No matter how often he whispered "I love you", those words are empty to his ears, meaningless. They might sound lovely and warm said by someone else, but for him they are only words among others. They rush from his mouth like sabres and they impale me, leaving only a hole of confusion.

Amongst my squealing breath I manage to scream three words: "I HATE YOU!"

I start to sob again, I bury my face in my arms. I feel something sticky on my face... It's blood! Deep wounds cover my arms. My own blood has dried in the wounds. His "games" are going just sicker all the time…

A calm, stabilised voice asks from the darkest corner of the room, behind a big armchair: "Do you really?"

He is not gone. He has just been waiting for me. Why? My heart wants to stop, my mind wants to blur. This is no good...

Black, shiny shoes stop in front of my face. I lift my gaze up, follow the appearance of the dark character and see the despising face of my Father. He isn't even trying to cover his dissatisfaction, he's just staring down at me, from high up. I feel so small, lying at his feet, under his gaze.

"I love you, my son", he says. Ha, what kind of meaningless words again!

"I know you love me, Father."

"Do you love me?" he asks.

I am confused, I just want to please him. "Of course I do, Father."

He heaves a deep sigh and shakes his head slowly. "You do? You hate me, don't you remember?"

I can only stare at his face. I try to beg for mercy with my gaze, I try to shrink as small as possible. "I don't hate you." Now my words are empty, too, as meaningless as his words are.

He's smiling at me again. Does he believe me? I don't think so... That smile on his face scares me. Nothing else has scared me like this before. He's haunting and clearly having some thoughts in his head.

"Why did you cry for Potter to help you, when I pleased you? Why did you miss that _muggle-lover_ then?"

_Nooo!!!_ My mind cries! I want to fall into a crack in Earth, I want to die now so he wouldn't be able to take my life!

My gaze screams for help, from somewhere, I don't know where. "Father, I- "

"Don't look at me like that. Don't look so helpless. Don't show others your despair. Even though also despair is something I love about you."

_//I adore the despair in your eyes...//_

He crouches next to me and lifting my chin and my face he presses his lips against mine. How disgusting can your father be?! He's tasting me, I feel his hungry tongue slither against mine. I have to kiss back, that's all I can do.

_//I worship your lips once red as wine...//_

His lips are cold, but his mouth is warm. His wet kiss is like poison; it burns and freezes. Tears find their way from my eyes to my cheeks again. His cold fingers hold my neck, hold me still.

I want to cry away this feeling, this moment from myself! I've done it so many times, I wish it worked this time too. I want to forget... Just to forget...

His "loving" kiss is over soon, but still not too early. He kisses my hair and breathes my scent. How can he make me feel so cheap and contaminated!

_//And I crave for your scent sending shivers down my spine...//_

"You're forgiven..."

Two words, how they make me breathe again...

"...but Potter is not."

A rope tightens around my throat. That's how I feel. I've got Harry killed, my own Harry! He might die because of my stupidity! No, this can't be true… just can't…

"Father, don't kill Har-" I correct myself quickly "-Potter! This is not your fault! I screamed his name because... because I hate him!" My desperate rescuing attempt doesn't seem to work. I squeeze my hands into fists and my nails bite into the palm of my hand. Does he always see through me?

And he gets up, walks away. I love his back when his steps lead away from me. Otherwise I don't love him. But now I don't even love his departure when I know where he will go. He is going to Harry, my Harry! I'd give anything so he would stay with me, no matter was it torturing me with his "love", but he can't... kill... Harry...

The door slams shut behind him. I'm completely alone in the room, only my sniffing echoes in the corners. I sit up and even though sitting is difficult after what he did to me, I don't care. I press my knees against my chest and cradle against my own grief. I cry against my knees, swing myself back and fro.

Something shiny gets my attention. I see it from my eye corner. A smile creeps to my lips again. Father has left his dagger on the floor after his games.

I wrap my fingers around the cold, metallic handle. It feels disgusting, but at the same time it feels like something completely different...

I lift my gaze to the ceiling, imagine to see the dark sky above me. "This is what you'd like, Father?!"

I don't want to hear about Harry's death, I don't want to see my father anymore, I don't want to cry in Harry's funeral, I don't want to live the rest of my life, missing my beloved one! I want to live in the belief that I will never have to know about those horrible things. I don't _need_ to live!

I press the end of the handle with my thumbs, squeeze the handle in my palms and I don't lower my eyes from the ceiling to see what I'll do next. I'd better just close my eyes, it's over soon...

A yell, the dagger falls on the stone floor. I actually did it!

For a moment my breath is raspy as the blood bursts out from my mouth as a stream, an incredible pain digs my heart – is it physical or mental pain? But then... No pain, pain is gone.

The world blurs around me, Harry waves at me...

_//And I just love the way you're running out of life...//_

_fin.

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**A/N:** The song was HIM's Gone With The Sin.

**A/N2:** Well, now I have to thank my wonderful betareaders, too.

_Silvestra_ was very kind, when she translated my fic from Finnish to English. I'm too stupid to transform my own ideas into another language.

_Michael Serpent_, who corrected grammar mistakes and advised me to change some sentences. Those mistakes were NOT Silvestra's fault; she just tried to translate my story so that everything would be as it was in my original Finnish version.


End file.
